Sanguis Verus
by Laurielove
Summary: Victoria, guided by Lord M, explores her new existence as a vampire, but how will he cope when the urges he has fought so hard to suppress are reawakened? A sequel to Redemptor Per Sanguinem. Extremely mature content. Victoria/Lord M. Written for the 2019 Dark Vicbourne Fest on the For the Love of Vicbourne Facebook group.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a sequel to my first Vampire Vicbourne story, ****_Redemptor Per Sanguinem_****, but you don't have to have read it to be able to read this one. All you need to know is that Lord M is actually a vampire but has fought over the years to suppress his urges. He doesn't feed on humans or kill them any longer, but gets his blood from slaughterhouses.**

**He turned Victoria into a vampire at her behest, and they will occasionally feed from each other. They begin this story living a happy life together, newly invigorated by their state of being. Nobody else knows they are vampires, although there are rumours.**

**This is going to be intense and filthy. Be warned. LL x**

* * *

During the summer of 1839, it was remarked how radiant Her Majesty seemed, how attentive to affairs of state, how astute in her dealings with foreign dignitaries, and how generous she was to her court.

In Parliament, it was also noted that the Prime Minister, William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne, was resolute in his approach to business, eloquent in his Parliamentary discourse, and benevolent in his appointments and pronouncements.

It was agreed that the country was in very good hands indeed.

That the Queen and her Prime Minister both fed on the blood of people and creatures and existed in a state of the undead as vampires was, perhaps fortunately, not public knowledge.

There were whisperings, certainly. There had been for years regarding William Lamb, and when the Queen suddenly seemed to find a new _joie de vivre_, the whisperings extended to the topic of her. But they remained whisperings only, largely contained to court. And William and Victoria were able to go about their daily and – perhaps more significantly – nightly business with no disturbance.

Victoria, still in the early days of her turning, needed human blood. It was essential to embed her vampiric nature. Melbourne watched ardently as she partook of this new wonder. He chose carefully: condemned men for the most part, whose lives were to be ended within the week on the end of the hangman's noose. She fed voraciously. Oh, how she did. Her bloodlust knew no bounds, and, at the moment of biting, any moral compunction was quashed by her need to drink deeply.

William Lamb restrained himself, denying himself live human feedings, professing that he was content with watching her and feeding off animal blood from the slaughterhouses.

He would watch from a quiet corner of the cell as she drained the life and blood from convict after convict. She had grown less fussy of late. He had endeavoured to acquire her youthful ones to start with, young men with gleaming eyes and thick hair who had fallen foul of the law due to a lapse of judgement. But Victoria's desire for blood drove her to demand more and more, and the prisons of the East End were soon emptied of those awaiting hanging. Fortunately, being Prime Minister, it only took a letter here or there to explain away the premature deaths of those condemned to execution.

Melbourne, for his part, had been away from his kind for so long, and, not witnessing the blood lust so apparent in other vampires, had suppressed his longing for warm, fresh blood with remarkable strength. But it made Victoria curious and anxious. Her own needs were all-consuming, her need for blood unquenchable, and she felt his own hunger when he fed from her. But she could not bear the thought of him killing again, not him.

'You will not feed from a living person as I do?' she asked one morning after a visit to Horsemonger Lane Prison. They sat to work as usual. She was full and invigorated and wondered why he seemed content merely to watch.

'I have not for many years, Victoria. I see no need to,' he asserted.

'But … my cravings are inexhaustible. Surely you feel the same?' She looked up from the dispatches.

'No more. And I can feed from you if my needs are too great.'

She turned from him, her eyes searching for understanding around the room. 'And I adore that and need that as much as ever. But I find your lack of need for fresh blood hard to comprehend.'

'Why?'

She stood, coiling herself around him and pulling him down for a deep kiss. When she broke away she searched his eyes. 'Because my hunger is so extreme, so all-consuming. I must have the blood of living creatures or I feel I shall go mad. I do not understand how you do not feel this way.'

He smiled softly. 'I have had more practice at suppressing it. But I know all too well the strength of desire for blood in the early days after a turning. And that is why I help you find it.'

'My darling, you are my salvation.'

The irony of her words was not lost on him and he banished it by kissing her deeply again.

'Will my need for it diminish?' she asked as his hands stroked down over her waist to pull her hips in against him.

'Over time, but you are new and you will require it for a long while to come yet.'

He could not help but kiss over her face and neck. She continued, 'I long for it, yet I hate myself for it also. And I would hate the thought of you taking a live feed.'

'I know this. This is why I do not do it.'

She took his head in her hands and guided him up so she could look at him. 'But when you watch me feeding … do you not envy me?'

He avoided her gaze. 'Do not ask such things.'

Victoria frowned against his reaction. 'Then you do.' She stroked his face, ran her thumb over his cheekbone with ardent hope. 'But I hate the thought of you killing again. You are still my perfect love, my divine Lord M.'

He gave the slightest scoff. 'I am a vampire, Victoria … as are you.'

'But you will not, will you? And neither shall I soon? I need it now, oh you know I do, but as long as you can find me condemned men, men whose lives will end soon no matter what, then my morals can cope, and … oh, it is so wondrous, this life you have given me.'

'Is it?'

'Yes, yes, my darling.' She clasped him to her and they kissed again, long and hard, their bodies pressed so hard together that they would have fused if they could.

'My love, my William … we must retain our dignity and our morals, please, we can do that, can we not? You have, so nobly.'

'I have recently, yes.'

'Then it is possible. When I am no longer new, when my body has adjusted to its new state, I will not need fresh blood from a living being either … and then, all shall be well, and we shall simply live and love forever … is that not so?'

'That is the intention, my beloved.'

She smiled. 'Then we shall avow it. I shall only continue feeding on people for the shortest time I can … and you … you shall continue to feed only from blood from the slaughterhouses, and from me. For I will give myself to you whenever I can.'

He stared hard at her, but his face was grave.

'Promise me,' she implored him.

'I will try, Victoria.'

That seemed to be enough for her, and he took her head in his hands and kissed her until doubt was forgotten.

-xoOox-

It continued. He would take her to prisons and she would feed and feed. He would watch and his fangs would emerge sharp and white and his skin grow tight and his eyes turn red, but he would watch only, and live off her joy and thirst-quenching feasting, for she fed with a hunger he revelled in. Her total abandon to the joy of it, to the seduction, the capture, to the penetration and to the draining and drinking was an intense pleasure to witness in itself. He had given her that, he had taught her, and he allowed himself a surge of pride each time.

Melbourne studied her as she sank into the dark corner of a carriage one night after feeding, her mouth still stained red with blood, streaks of it coating her clothing (they paid the chamber maids well not to comment or question), and he loved her.

But it was stirring in him, he knew that.

Envy.

He envied her the blood which assuaged her hunger and replenished her own veins.

There was one way to take it. He knew.

She opened her eyes and looked at him in the gloom. She read him well.

'William …' she murmured, her mouth open, her fangs still out as she thought back to the evening's feeding. 'I am replete.'

'Good.'

She ran a single, lazy finger down his cheek. 'But, you, my love … are not.'

He did not answer.

She drew in a deep breath and said, 'I am more than sated and my blood is full and rich due to it. You know what you should do, what you want to do …'

Victoria untied the ribbons at her neck and loosened her collar. He turned away. He had taken from her only last week. It was true that she had fed again since then, but usually their kind should wait at least two weeks before feeding from each other. He hated the thought of weakening her.

'My darling,' she said, reaching for his arm and pulling him towards her. He found resistance hard. 'Drink from me.' Her neck was bare and she leaned into him. Her soft pale skin gleamed at him as the streetlamps caught it in intermittent flashes. He could see the scars of his previous feeding, most of them pale silvery disks now, but the most recent still red and marked.

'It should not be now,' he declared again.

She whined, a pouting sob which made him frown as he knew how hard it was to ignore. He was not the only one who benefited from his feeding on her. Her sexual needs had recently become unquenchable.

'I want it,' she sobbed and clawed at his arm again. 'Oh, I need it, I need you.'

'Victoria …' he tried, but barely meant it.

Before he knew it, she had twisted from the seat and moved herself astride him. The jolting of the carriage forced her hard against his groin which barely needed more encouraging as it was.

'Victoria,' he said again, a growl of need now. His hesitation, such as it was, was vanquished.

She propped herself up enough to pull her skirts up, scrabbled to undo his placket and release him, and, with a laugh of anticipatory delight, lowered herself immediately onto him.

He swallowed hard. The pleasure of being inside her was almost enough, perhaps he would not need to bite.

Victoria coiled her arms around his neck and moved on him with such slow sensuality that he could simply stare and stare and feel and feel. She was unfeasibly tight, he concluded, and so wet and welcoming that the glove of her body must surely have been made for him.

As she bucked, she gave the littlest sighs and mewls which told of her concentration and delight. And she was his. His infallibility at this point seemed undoubtable.

But …

_Pulse …_

_Beat …_

There it was. He spied it first … the vein in her neck. It was more prominent when she was aroused. And it called to him.

His cock was enthralled, embedded within her, coaxed towards the most cataclysmic climax, but still …

He was hungry. She had feasted, she had drunk and drunk … Why should he not?

She paused briefly in her rolling, rocking motion along him and looked down, gifting him with an inviting smile as she bit her lip. And then, pulling back her gown fully, she bared her neck completely.

'I know you want it … Of course you do … Feed, feed my darling. You know how I adore it, you know I will take all of you, your pleasure and your pain.'

And he couldn't not.

His fangs were out. The imperative was unquestionable.

She took hold of his head and guided it to her neck. He grazed over her skin at first, causing her to hiss, until he found the perfect place, and then he bit.

'Ah!' she cried out harshly, for he had not hesitated in piercing her flesh instantly. It hurt her. But that cry made his cock jolt and so he bit deeper so that she cried out again. Her fingers clenched on his scalp and she scratched him.

And it flowed.

Blood poured into his mouth and he sucked and sucked. Her blood, sweet and rich and replenishing.

Her little cries of pain soon changed, shifting into whines and moans as the ecstasy of being fed from took hold.

He clung to her, his hands splayed across her back so tight his fingers were clawlike. His fangs embedded themselves deeper, affixed, attached, just as his cock was embedded inside her.

She let out shallow gasps now and ceased moving. So he began, a slow thrust of his hips, just enough for her to know he was there, while he sucked and sucked on her. He could take as much as he wanted, she would not die, she could not, yet she would be significantly weakened.

But she tasted so very, very good. And, by God, she felt glorious.

He was sucking the climax from her, drawing it from her as profoundly as his cock or fingers ever could. And her breathing became rasping and her hands flailed and she came.

Victoria shook on him, her climax so powerful it shuddered through her body. Still he sucked, but his own orgasm took hold quickly and he pulled his mouth off her with the force of it.

As the last of her ecstasy washed over her, its power and the blood loss was too much and she fell forward on him in a faint.

William pulsed out the last of his rapture and clung to her. Blood still dripped from the wounds at her neck, but he was beyond awareness. Victoria rested heavy on him, unconscious. Never had he known such beauty flowing into him, out of him and through him.

He let his head fall back and panted out his bliss. He could feel her blood healing him, filling and recreating him. By God – or whatever guided his fate – he loved her.

But their situation raised a dilemma. He needed to get her into the Palace without detection. Victoria remained unconscious in his arms. He reached for his cane and banged it on the roof, calling up to the driver, 'Take us to the back of the Palace. Be silent.'

'Yes, My Lord,' came the muffled response.

He held her for the remainder of the journey, he stroked her and kissed her. She was out cold, but would recover in time, and what she had given him was everything. But he had needed it and it had tasted so very, very good. Fresh, warm, human blood – how he had missed it.

He remained inside her warm and safe until they arrived back at the Palace, at which point he was compelled to lift her off him and tidy himself. They were let through a side entrance (the carriage was anonymous although marked as Royal property and so passed through unquestioned).

When they stopped, the coachman (the only liveried member of the household staff around) descended and opened the door for him. Melbourne, with the still unconscious Queen in his arms, got out. The coachman's eyes widened and, at that moment, in his passion, Melbourne revealed his true nature. His eyes reddened, his skin flashed white and taut, and his fangs gleamed. It was only for an instant, but it was enough to terrify anyone into submission.

'Not a word,' hissed Melbourne, his voice unearthly in its intent.

The coachman's silence was assured.

Melbourne bore Victoria through the back passages and dark corridors of the Palace until he reached his own chamber. He would nurse her until dawn and then return her to her own room.

He placed her carefully on his bed and bathed the wounds at her neck. She was deathly pale and her breath shallow. Perhaps he had taken too much, but even then, he felt the goodness of it within him and was satisfied. He had been around long enough to know that she would awaken soon enough.

At around half past four, she stirred. Her delicate eyelashes fluttered and she sucked in a long breath as consciousness returned to her.

He bent and kissed her and she slowly opened her eyes.

'Oh … oh, I am weak,' she said, her voice soft and quaking.

'You will recover,' he said, stroking her hair back. 'But rest during the day.'

He hesitated, gazing down at her, and then said, 'Thank you, my darling.'

She managed a slight smile. 'Was it good?'

'It was magnificent.'

'It was for me too. Such pleasure, such boundless pleasure.' She stretched out her limbs in remembrance. 'Are you sated?'

_For_ _now,_ he thought.

'Yes, my love.'

'Then we are both content.'

'You must return to your chamber.'

She frowned against it. 'Oh, must I? I am so very happy here.'

'I know … but it must be done.'

She sighed. 'Very well.'

She was able to walk a little and so, supporting her with infinite tenderness, he guided her back to her chamber, evading detection once again.

There, he dressed her in her night clothes, ensuring the collar concealed her neck wounds, drew the blankets around her, kissed her softly, and left her to drift back to sleep.

When she was roused a few hours later, no one was any the wiser. However, the Queen complained of illness and remained in her bed for the rest of the day. Her appointments were cancelled. Melbourne, on the other hand, was much invigorated and gave a speech in Parliament which had the Members cheering and waving their order papers with a fervour rarely seen.

He liked it greatly.

* * *

**Oooh, yummy. More very soon. Let me know your thoughts.**


	2. Chapter 2

In the days that followed Melbourne's feeding from Victoria, he was euphoric. She recovered quickly, and was herself invigorated to the point where their couplings were the most intense he could remember. But soon enough, she would need fresh blood again.

They ventured out to more prisons, travelling further afield if necessary. Victoria fed voraciously, and he watched and remembered. It used to be like that for him. How sweet it was, that capitulation of the victim, the knowledge that you would deliver death through pleasure, the seep of dark red liquid into you, the taste of it …

_The taste. _

And when he bit her, fresh from a feeding of her own, his envy was stirred more readily yet. When he tasted her blood, replenished and rich, he recalled the time when he would feast as he needed, taking where he wanted.

_Oh, it was good. _

Everywhere now he sensed it: the beat of blood, the pulse of life. Everyone who moved, everyone who breathed … he could have them. He could quench his increasingly frantic thirst.

He wanted it again.

There was only so much self-deceit he could subdue. He _wanted_. He wanted the thrill of guile and deceit, of lulling the victim into security and acceptance, and of that sweet surrender when their flesh succumbed under his fangs.

He took to walking, long, determined walks through the twisting streets of London. When Victoria was busy with royal duties, when Westminster was quiet, he would walk and walk, cursing his own weakness.

People would pass him, women would turn to him, their eyes bright with the lure of fleshly pleasure and furtive trysts behind hastily closed doors. How easy it once was. How easy it could be again. He saw them. He felt it – their heart beats, the throb of their blood. It was inescapable, pounding in his ears with an insistence which stirred his own depravity.

One night, he found himself at an inn at the docks, far from the prying eyes of Westminster and the Palace. His collar was up, the night was dark. He slunk in a back door and sat in the dimmest corner. Nobody marked him; their own business was so nefarious that backs were turned and eyes averted. He would order a drink. Perhaps his thirst would be a little quenched that way.

A girl approached him, hands on swaying hips, her dark blonde hair piled in unruly locks on her head. She smiled down but he avoided her flirtatious gaze. 'What can I get you, sir?'

'Claret.'

She scoffed. 'You'll be lucky.'

'Anything red then.'

'Not much call for it, but we might have something stashed away. I'll see what I can do.'

She sashayed away and he was relieved that the pulsating of her blood faded with her departure. He closed his eyes. Wine would have to suffice.

The girl returned soon enough after and placed a glass of red liquid down before him.

'You're in luck. Can't vouch for its quality, mind.'

She hovered while he took his first sip. The wine was sharp and vinegary and made his cheeks shrink. But he needed something. He took another drink. He must have grimaced.

'You don't look like you're enjoying it much,' she declared with a lilting laugh. 'I'll be sure to order in the finest Petrus next time, just for you.'

He lifted his gaze and met with large blue eyes. He couldn't deny her allure. She was clever, clearly, and he lamented briefly that she was consigned to serving and not studying. She had an open, inquiring face, but knowing enough for there to be a spark in the eyes which he responded to.

'I cannot deny that I have had better.'

'I'm sure you have,' she crooned. 'Why don't you let me get you something else then?'

'What do you suggest?'

'Depends on what you like … My Lord.'

'How do you know my title?'

At this she pulled out the stool opposite and sank down onto it. Her breasts, smooth and rounded as they were pushed from her bodice, caught his eye and she knew it.

'I might be surrounded by drunkards and half-wits … but I keep up with what's going on in Westminster … Prime Minister.'

He tutted. 'And here I was thinking I could be anonymous.'

'Not with me, you can't, sir.'

'Well … as you know who I am … I should know who you are.'

She smiled beguilingly. 'My name's Abigail, My Lord.'

'Then good evening to you … Abigail. And William will suffice.'

'Oh, I've seen those cartoons of you and the Queen – you, the little woolly thing trotting behind … Mr William Lamb.'

He scoffed and took another drink, despite the acrid taste. 'There are worse things.'

'You like that, do you?' She leaned in, her voice deepening alluringly. 'Being at her beck and call? Being her little pet?'

He smirked. 'How very forward you are, Abigail.'

'Why not?'

'You have a tongue on you.'

'Oh, William … don't I just …'

He looked at her. Oh, he could have her. He could have a great deal of fun with her even, and in his youth he would have, with no compunction whatsoever. But he would not betray Victoria in that way.

Not in _that_ way.

But his gaze was drawn to the girl opposite.

She had a pretty neck, long and pale. And contained in it …

_Beat. _

_Pulse._

_Beat. _

_Pulse. _

Victoria had had so many after all. So many young men bitten and sucked dry. Surely, just one? Didn't he _deserve_ it?

Abigail bit her lip and held his gaze.

'You didn't come here for the wine, William Lamb.' She reached across and stroked a single finger along his forefinger. 'We have rooms upstairs … I'm sure you'd love to see them.'

'No.'

She scoffed. 'Oh, come, sweet William, you need a break from all those debates and decisions … you won't regret it.'

'Not a room. Outside.'

Her scoff turned into a laugh. 'Like it dirty, do you? Is that how they breed 'em in Westminster these days? I can do it however you want. I just thought a fine gentleman like you would like a nice bed to lie down in.'

'Perhaps I am not a fine gentleman.'

She smirked again. 'And that's the best news I've had all day.' Abigail leaned across the table and whispered in his ear, 'I'll meet you in the yard in five minutes. It's just through this door here. No one but me comes round there. No one'll see. Dark as hell it is, you'll like that. If you can't see … you'll just have to feel.'

He met her eyes. 'Five minutes.'

And she got up and slipped away from him.

William could scarcely breathe, but there was no turning back. The decision was made. And God, he needed it.

He picked up the glass of wine and, despite its acrid taste, poured the remaining contents rapidly down his throat.

Then, pulling his cloak tight around him, he slipped from the darkness of the corner of the inn to the darkness outside. Abigail was right, the yard was impenetrably gloomy and any windows overlooking it were shuttered or black. He could go about his business unheeded.

She kept to her word and appeared silently and sweetly five minutes later.

Abigail smiled up at him and placed her hands on his abdomen before sliding them slowly up to his shoulders. It was not ineffective. 'Who would've thought it? The Prime Minister himself. And I have to say, the handsomest Prime Minister there could be. Still … I always demand the best.'

'I'm pleased to hear it.'

And she curled her hands around his neck and pulled him down towards her pliant lips.

He did hesitate, briefly. He had not kissed another since before Victoria. But this was a kiss as a means to an end, no more. Victoria had kissed many of the young men before biting them. He enjoyed looking on. He assumed she would like to watch him now doing similar. He imagined her doing so and met the girl's lips.

She was soft and tasted of strawberries. He enjoyed it and deepened the kiss.

She gave a little sigh and he enjoyed it more. He held her head and toyed with her tongue. His hand slid down and found a breast. It was smaller than Victoria's but he liked it greatly. His cock stirred to attention immediately. He could forget himself in her, although conscience would soon get the better of him. He could not countenance infidelity, but was quite happy to suck the blood out of this girl until she was dead.

She moaned against him; he had long been able to make women emit noises of abandon. It was music to his ears, and so he stroked along her waist and rubbed his thumb over her breast. He could feel her nipple tight and prominent through her thin bodice and shift, and when he did that her breath caught and she pushed wantonly against his rigid cock. What did it matter if he eked this out a little before the inevitable? He reached his hand easily inside her ruched top and eased her breast out.

'You're a good 'un, who'd a thought it,' she sighed and guided his head to her breast. As he was about to kill her, he thought the least he could do was give her some goodness first, and so he let his tongue run idly over the taut nub, eliciting a sigh of unbridled pleasure, before taking it between his lips and sucking concertedly for some time. It sat nicely on his tongue, he could only admit, and she rubbed her fingers slowly over his scalp with a comforting sensuality with which he indulged himself.

One of her hands remained in his hair but her other slid down between his legs. She pressed and rubbed along him and he allowed that, but when her hand started to release him, he knew he should act. There were certain extravagances he would not permit himself. Giving pleasure was one thing, receiving it a betrayal too far. (Although this girl's blood would be a pleasure beyond reckoning which he would receive, but that he conveniently forgot.)

Melbourne closed his hand around her wrist and moved it away from his cock. Abigail expressed confusion, and he let her tight, damp nipple pop from his mouth and drew himself up again.

'Sir?' she queried, a frown of bewilderment on her face. 'You ain't got nothing to be ashamed of, let me tell you. I'm surprised you haven't split your seams. Let me keep you happy.'

'Oh … you will.' He cupped her face, a tenderness in advance of what was to come, and stroked with his thumbs. 'Thank you.'

She frowned again and he moved a hand back to her breast and toyed with the nipple again. She liked that. Her head fell back with a sigh of contentment, and at last he let his head drop to her neck. He kissed it, that was all, soft, warm kisses, little licks and sucks, perhaps the occasional graze of his teeth. (He prided himself on occasions such as this on being able to retain his fangs until they were truly needed).

'Ohh,' she purred, twining her fingers through his hair. 'I like that … I like that … You carry on like that and you'll get me off just as you're doing.'

He didn't doubt it. Just not quite in the way she realised.

He rolled and pinched the nipple between thumb and forefinger until it was as hard as an acorn and, at last, when her sighs had reached a peak of bliss, he gave in to his darkest needs and drew back his lips to let his fangs emerge. Oh, she was soft and pale and giving and her blood pulsed ever harder around her lustful body. It called to him, and why deny himself now? No one would know.

And so, flexing his fingers and pulling her harder into him, he let the tips of his fangs catch her flesh. She would not know what it was at first. She would suspect he was merely grazing her.

She gasped a little. Only a little, barely audibly.

He deepened the bite. His fangs penetrated. He felt that beautiful surrender of skin under them. Christ, it had been so long. Too long.

She gasped again. Louder, but she did not pull back. In fact, she held him tighter upon her. Oh, he would enjoy this.

He bit harder, full penetration.

'Oww!' she cried this time: shock and surprise and pain.

He sank them deeper yet and then he sucked.

Her blood flowed.

Sweet, rich, red and warm. _God above, the glory of it!_

He sucked hard and her renewed cry was still pain, but now mingled with surprise and wonder, different to the first.

'Ohh, what? What is that? It hurts, oh, it hurts!'

But her bewilderment was rapturous. She was adapting; she was curious. She would be feeling it: that paradox of sensation, that shimmering haze between ecstasy and agony. He still had a hand on her breast and soon enough her gasps of pain shifted to mere moans.

And her blood …

Fresh, young, pure human blood.

At last.

_At last. _

It had been decades. Why had he denied himself? Why had he subdued his inclinations and needs? Victoria sated hers, was it so bad to do the same?

He pulled the girl in against him and sank his fangs yet deeper. He could feel the rising shiver of pleasure building in her. He loved the inevitability of it, how her ending would be met with ecstasy, and how he would bestow both. He had forgotten that gleam power of that kind bestowed.

He pushed her back against the brick wall and braced himself fast with one hand against it, fingers splayed, while he remained affixed to her neck, sucking and drinking the blood from her.

Abigail mewled now, not an unappealing sound. And although her strength was diminishing, she still held onto him. She was adoring it.

Briefly, he considered turning her. She was exactly the type he and Byron would have taken and turned all that time ago.

But, no. He could do without further complication. And the binding tie between them, which would be forged by turning her, was one he could do without.

But, before her death, she would come hard. As a gentleman, if he were nothing else, he would at least ensure that.

He considered touching her sex. He admitted he was curious and wanted to feel the extent of her lust and abandon, but she was clearly more than sated with his attention to her breast and his prolonged feeding from her. And there was Victoria.

Guilt caught him and he bit harder in response, causing a yelp of shocked pain. But it soon settled to moans of pleasure again.

She was nearly gone, he could tell. She was drifting on a plain of euphoric oblivion – enfolded in a hazy gauze between life and death.

And as her blood flowed into him, too much lost to maintain life, but so sweet as to cause pleasure to flow out of her along with it, she came.

She shook on him with the last of her awareness, pleasure shuddering through her with remarkable force seeing as she was nearing her last breath.

And when the last pulse of rapture had gone from her, she slumped in his arms. She was dead.

He continued taking for some time, until she was nearly empty of blood. And at last he stepped back and, barely aware of her corpse, let her drop heavily to the ground.

Melbourne, through deep replenishing gasps of breath, stood tall, lifting his head to the star-filled sky. Stretching out his neck in a snakelike motion, his eyes rolled back in his head and he extended his arms to the sides, palms open like some demonic Christ-figure.

He was triumphant.

Why had he waited? Why had he denied himself? For a moment, he gloried in his own rediscovered narcissism.

At length, after he had let the full effect of her blood seep through him, he glanced down. She lay, quite pale and still, only the two puncture wounds at her neck evidence of any ill effects at all. Blood still seeped from them, but she had little left and it would soon cease. He reached into his coat pocket for the knife he carried with him and carefully cut through the wounds to leave instead a slit in her throat. He reached into her pocket and took the coins he found there. It would seem at first glance to be a common murder for the takings of the inn. The lack of much blood would be a mystery, but the authorities could ponder that one. He had been sufficiently careful to hide himself in the inn, concealed in a dark corner. Abigail had been the only one to engage directly with him. There would be no suspicion.

He wished her a silent farewell – more out of habit than anything; it would not befit a Prime Minister to quit someone without protocol – and left her. It was only when he reached Horse Guards that guilt hit.

And it struck him hard, so hard that he had to double up and brace himself against a lamp post. The London air was thick with fog and putrid to his senses. He closed his eyes and Abigail's face, wide-eyed, staring, devoid of life, filled his vision.

Melbourne lamented his conscience; it had long been a stumbling point. Byron had taunted him with it at every opportunity. And the thought of that gave him resolution. He would not let that man have any further sway on him. He glanced up, the Palace lights beckoning at the end of the Mall, and walked purposefully back. After washing thoroughly and changing his clothes, he made his way silently to the Queen's chambers and slipped into bed beside her.

Victoria stirred immediately and turned her head to kiss him.

'Where have you been? The slaughterhouse?' she asked.

'Yes,' he lied (it was remarkably easy, he found with some surprise). His hand stroked over the delicious dip of her waist and rise of her thigh. After the events of the night, his cock still demanded attention and the feel of her perfect rump pressing itself so willingly against him was impossible to ignore. He hardened immediately and wanted her with every ounce of his being.

'Hmm,' she hummed, purring assent as he kissed along her neck and drew a hand around to find her breast.

Abigail's breasts had been a new and brief delight, but he could never get enough of his lover's.

She drew her upper leg forward so that he could edge close, and he eased into her. Victoria released a long sigh and breathed out, 'Yes, oh my love, yes.'

William Lamb would only love her, would only enter her. Even if he fed, even if he devoured others, she was the only one. It would be for her, only for her. She was his all. But being inside her made him reconsider what had happened. Tonight had been foolish. He must not fail her again. As he moved in her now, his need and his love more powerful after his feeding, he knew that.

However, his blood replenished, he had never felt so potent, it cannot be denied. He turned her suddenly onto her front and pulled her up onto her knees. She gasped in surprise as he plunged into her from behind, but he gave her no scope for doubt. Grasping her hips, he moved powerfully in her, determined, brutal to the point of demanding her climax.

It did not take long. She wailed with the strength of it, coming so hard on his cock that he laughed in triumph. His own climax followed immediately, shockingly harsh, robbing him of what sense remained. His seed burst explosively into her, long and hot, and he rejoiced in her taking of it all.

Almost immediately, she slumped forward and he fell from her. Victoria turned onto her back and looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise.

She opened her mouth to say something but all that emerged was an awed, 'Dear God …'

'Sleep,' he murmured, kissing her softly.

She turned over, pulled the covers over her, and did so.

Melbourne remained awake, staring above him at the canopy.

For a man who had been dead 257 years, he had never felt so alive.


End file.
